


totally, 100%, (not) cute

by smolarmstrong



Category: Green Day
Genre: Fluff, M/M, just a big fluff fest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-10-22 00:23:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10685949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smolarmstrong/pseuds/smolarmstrong
Summary: Tré Cool is in total denial.





	totally, 100%, (not) cute

**Author's Note:**

> im super bad at writing tré so im trying to go through and write a bunch of stuff with him so
> 
> take this garbage heap
> 
> hope n'yall enjoy

Tré is not fucking cute, not one bit. He’s manly and hardened and strong and weirdly stocky but short and compact at the same time. Tré would compare himself to a football, Mike would compare him to a miniature horse, and Tré would punch Mike hard on the arm, earning a cuss from the older.

Let it be known that Tré Cool - the magnificent, godlike, purely-fucking-Adonis copied specimen - is the farthest away from cute you can get. He’s all green hair, child hair clips, crooked teeth, oversized basketball shorts - a total anti-cute human being. Tré would compare himself to Slimer from the Ghostbusters, Mike would compare him to the Stay-Puff Marshmallow Man, dickie sailor cap and all. Tré would bash his knuckle into Mike’s thigh and curse like a sailor.

Mr. Tré Cool is not, let him repeat,  _ NOT  _ adorable. Adorable is only for puppies and babies and girls naked while wearing kitty ears. Adorable is not Tré, adorable is toothy grins and loud giggles and blushy faces - stuff Mike points out and prods and smiles about Tré. Tré just shoves his head down, pouts and blushes even more. He shoves Mike, pushing as hard as he can and only shifting the older man's weight, making him weeble and wobble and not fall down.

Frank Edwin Wright III will scream it from the rooftops -  _ he is not fucking cute!  _ But another face, Mr. Michael Ryan Pritchard, will say otherwise. He’ll say Tré is a huge ball of beautiful energy, all loudmouth and non-existent filter. His twitches, his mannerisms, the way he snores and talks in his sleep at the same time, is fucking  _ adorable.  _ His face and body are chubby in all the wrong but so perfectly right places, his hair is full of cow licks that can only be tamed with seventeen pounds of hair gel, his eyes are electric and wild and a stark ocean blue, always tired but manic and somehow calm all at once.

Tré doesn't think he’s cute. Whenever Mike says the fateful words, “God, you’re so fucking adorable Tré,” he’ll kick Mike in the shins, old and yellowed Converse smashing hard into the bass player's bones. Tré will cross his arms in anger, hissing out a thick, “I’m not fucking  _ cute, _ Dirnt, get it through your thick skull.” Mike will just smile and laugh, reach down and kiss Tré’s creased forehead, beat red with embarrassment.

Tré doesn't think he’s cute, he’ll never utter the words about himself. Mike tries his best to make Tré believe his words, believe his praises between chaste kisses late at night in the Bookmobile. 

Tré Cool is not cute, but his boyfriend is. Maybe some of his boyfriend's cuteness is rubbing off on him, making him cute by default. He’ll never fucking admit that though, because Mr. Tré Cool is not cute.

Not at all.


End file.
